


Baby Bird

by ScaryScarecrows



Series: Gaslights [16]
Category: Batman: Gotham by Gaslight (2018)
Genre: Gen, Penguin adopts a ducking, Sort Of, Tim's cute but potentially a baby crime lord, awkward birdy bonding, casual mentions of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 02:36:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16673146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScaryScarecrows/pseuds/ScaryScarecrows
Summary: “Here it is, Mister Cobblepot.”“Thank you.” Three more minutes pass. Oswald is positive Timothy does not blink at all in that time. “Did you need something.”“What’s that.”





	Baby Bird

**Author's Note:**

> Tim remains Penguin’s personal favorite: Dick uses his furniture for gymnastics practice and Jason has been known to terrorize the Delivery Service. Also, look at his name. Penguin has adopted a duckling. Sort of.
> 
> Ah, we return! Those NOT keeping up over Halloween (shame!): ‘Unfounded Belief’ contains a handful of one-shots set in the Gaslights ‘verse: ‘Shatter Like Glass’, ‘Silver Gaze’, ‘Do No Harm’, and ‘Skip to My Lou’.

Oswald Cobblepot is known in selected circles as The Penguin. He relishes in the absurdity. Penguins are an odd, awkward type of bird, and although he is well aware that the nickname comes from his gait, he likes it. It puts would-be enemies off their guard, and an off-guard man is infinitely easier to dispatch of than an on-guard one.

And penguins are…endearing, in their own way.

“-have been **killed** , what were you **thinking-** ”

He narrows his eyes at the door. His little group of snitches returned today with valuable information. Unfortunately, they also returned slightly maimed. The older two are receiving a dressing-down. The youngest is in here.

Ordinarily, Oswald does not like people in his office, and certainly not when he’s working. But Timothy Drake (and he knows the name, but it doesn’t serve him to meddle) is quiet.

And, admittedly, he brought a plateful of scones in with him. That is an acceptable payment.

Timothy is unharmed. Richard apparently has an inured wrist (ahh, his banisters are spared further acrobatics!) and Jason needs stitches in his shoulder. Dove and Olga are…

“-cannot believe you-”

They aren’t happy.

No matter. As long as they don’t die, he does not care what mental trauma they suffer.

He reaches for his tea, finds himself out, and frowns. He doesn’t want to get up. He is comfortable, the chill is making his bad knee ache as it is, and, quite frankly, he doesn’t wish to be caught in the crossfire. Olga had snarled something about stuffing Jason into a matryoshka doll*, since he was so fond of being carved into a smaller version of himself. Where **that** threat had stemmed from, Oswald has no idea, but if anybody could stuff a small boy into a smaller wooden doll, well…

Tellingly, there’d been no backtalk.

“Timothy.” He may as well make himself useful. “Go to the kitchen and tell Miriam to brew me another pot of tea.”

“Awwight, Mister Cobblepot.”

Hm. It’s been six months, and the boy’s upper-crust accent has already worn itself down to nearly nothing. Idly, he wonders how long it would take for it to return.

Dove stops shouting-probably to draw a breath-and Richard pipes up in a desperate attempt to save himself.

“We didn’t mean ta-”

Olga rolls straight over him with a curt, “No.”

Silence.

He is in the middle of some…delicate…paperwork when Timothy returns, tongue between his teeth and tea tray in his hands. Ah. Tea. Perhaps these boys are good for more than snooping, after all.

“Here it is, Mister Cobblepot.”

“Thank you.” Three more minutes pass. Oswald is positive Timothy does not blink at all in that time. “Did you need something.”

“What’s that.”

FFFF-

Well. He’s bolder than he looks, isn’t he?

Although.

Oswald does not know or particularly care about the circumstances that led to the Drake’s demise and their son’s…current predicament. He does know, however, that Jack Drake was no fool in, ha, shall he say, **special** business arrangements. Not that that’s any of his business.

“An order to India,” he says shortly. There. That should be enough.

Should be, but is not. Timothy inches a little closer, eyes still wide, and Oswald resists the urge to prod his forehead. Perhaps his eyes are stuck, and need a good jab to get them to close again.

“Tea?”

“No.” He throws Maroni’s skull-acquired, in a manner of speaking, at an auction-a long-suffering look. “Shouldn’t you be taking an afternoon nap?”

It’s only for a second, but Timothy’s expression could kill a man.

“I could help. Be a second pair of eyes.”

“No.” He turns his attention to his papers and pretends the boy isn’t still lurking **right there**. “Now run along, I am not a nanny.”

Up until today, Oswald had Timothy neatly pigeonholed as the Timid (ha-ha) one. At this very moment, however, he is proven wrong.

“The dockmaster says he’s going to start doubling down on cargo ships coming from India,” he says, and Oswald is **aware** , thank you. He has the man paid off. He knows how to run a criminal empire. “He’s got dogs now.”

…

Is that so.

He looks up, ready to order the boy out of his office, and.

And just for a moment, he could be looking in a mirror to his child-self. Timothy is a scraggly, small-boned little thing, not unlike a half-grown dove, with big eyes and an oddly round face.

And he’s clearly no fool, child or not.

Oswald is not so foolish as to train a child in the business of…well. In the Business. Take it from one who was there, boys raised in this life will murder their way to the top, and Oswald **is** the top. However…there is always room to advance in his organization, and he wouldn’t be above having a secretary one day. Sionis had one. It worked well for him, hence the reason Mister Li is now fish food.

“Sit down,” he says gruffly. “If you don’t ask a thousand questions, you may observe.”

“C’n I ask a couple’a questions?”

“If they aren’t stupid ones.”

Timothy must find that agreeable, because he shoves the visitor’s chair ‘round to the side, clambers onto it, and leans over.

“So do you have someone set up to take the blame if it goes wrong?”

Oswald smiles. Smart boy, indeed. He could grow to actively like this one.

THE END

*Nesting dolls.


End file.
